Eternal Glory
by Carolare Scarletus
Summary: Harry Potter had only one task, and that was to stay alive. When his name is pulled from the Goblet of Fire, he is whisked away by Albus Dumbledore and taken to Alastor Moody in hopes that his training as an Auror will better equip him for the trials that lay ahead.


**Important:** Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments); Writing Club (August); Disney Challenge- Quotes/Dialogue #4 "We better keep an eye on this one. She's tricky." & Lyric Alley #12- I am brave, I am bruised; Slytherin House

 **Team:** Wimbourne Wasps

 **The theme:** Movies that killed their franchises

 **Prompts:** (quote) It's the honest ones you want to watch out for. — Pirates of the Caribbean; (word) watch; (word) aftertaste

 **Player:** Chaser 2

 **Word count:** 1909 ( Excluding Author's Note, but including entire Entry and Title)

 **Warning:** This is an AU (Alternate Universe) piece.

 **Characters:** Alastor Moody; Albus Dumbledore; Harry Potter; Fleur Delacour; Cedric Diggory; Viktor Krum

 **Summary:** Harry Potter had only one task, and that was to stay alive. When his name is pulled from the Goblet of Fire, he is whisked away by Albus Dumbledore and taken to Alastor Moody in hopes that his training as an Auror will better equip him for the trials that lay ahead.

* * *

Eternal Glory

* * *

The Dungeons were cold this time of night, and not a single soul lurked under its dark cover. The portraits remained sleeping, even when the sound of the muffled illusion of shoes slapping against the wooden floor grew to a crescendo, disrupting the silence. As it would appear, two figures rounded the sharp corner, paying no attention to anyone or anything as they quickly made their way down the corridor, one talking beneath their breath while the other coward and clung to the tight walls. The torches guiding their way flickered ominously as they passed, and it was only when they all came to a sudden halt that they were able to come to an agreeable rest inside a dank office.

In the heat of the moment, Harry found himself in the presence of the Headmaster. His honest and angry blue eyes had been the last thing he saw before he was whisked away in a blink of an eye. He watched his Professors from the corner of his eye before the forms blend into the surroundings and he found himself in a dimly lit room, surrounded by mysteriously moving paintings and creatures in jars that looked to have been severed from their living bodies. Looking at it all, it left a bad aftertaste in Harry's mouth and he was resigned to look out the dirty old window, lest he found something he shouldn't have found. Harry turned around, feeling dizzy at the strangeness of the room. As he did, a dark figure moved around him and he has forcefully pushed aside and deeper into the formidable den. When his vision focused, he was faced with Alastor Moody, whom, in the back of his fragile mind, had been deemed his mentor for the entirety of the Triwizard Tournament.

All in all, nothing about this settled well with looked about, gauging his new surroundings as if it was the first task of the Tournament. He didn't know how, but the Headmaster deemed the man worth of protecting and guiding him through his ordeal. No one knew who put his name into the Goblet, but whoever did was no friend to him.

"Sit and breath," Professor Moody growled, grabbing ahold of his shirt and thrusting his body into the nearest chair. Before he had the chance to look around some more, Moody was back, handing him something dark green. "Here, drink this. You look as if you'd seen a Dementor. Lessen the tension in the air, I'd say."

Harry looked at the oddly colored concoction, and the burning aftertaste of the smell of it nearly knocked him out. Instead, he tossed into a plant while Moody's back was turned. When he emerged from the darkness, he sat down in front of him, his mechanical eye moving about its glass container menacingly. Harry watched it for what seemed like eons. Moody didn't break the incredibly hold he had on Harry as he raised his hand between them. He slowly leaned back in his chair, his eyes swirling about angrily. Harry watched as it disappeared, showing the white of his eye and confirming that what they were about do was real and not some cruel fabrication of his mind. Harry didn't feel any more grateful, but he had to conceal it for now. They stared into each other until the least few incantations of his anxiety were whispered. No matter how cruel of a person Moody was, it did nothing to damper Harry. In fact, it invigorated him.

"I'd very much like to know how you did it. Put your name in that bloody goblet, I mean."

"I didn't do it."

"Well, someone did. Now, you're stuck having to compete in the most brutal tournament known to the Wizarding kind. If this is going to work, I need to know your strengths and weaknesses. As a fourth year, you've got to know at least something that sets you apart from the others. The last Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher- Lupin, was it? He had to have taught you something other than which end of your wand not to stick up your nose."

Harry wracked his brain but fell short. Lupin was a brilliant Professor, but he lacked the capacity that most Professors dared not to undertake. However, there was something honestly eerie about Professor Moody. It was as if he exuded every malevolent force in just one celestial being. Harry didn't know whether or not to trust him. There was something about him that he couldn't quite place and it made him nervous. Brave as he was, even Harry had trouble distinguishing between good and evil.

"Got any plans on how you're gonna stay alive?"

"Er...what?"

"Plans...tactics. You've got to have something, Potter. I need to know what's going on in that little head of yours if you're going to have any shot of living through this."

His comment bruised him. Harry winced. No one, aside from Snape, ever spoke to him with such a demeaning tone and the only thing he knew was that he didn't like it.

"I...I didn't think-"

"Of course you didn't think, boy!" Moody stood abruptly, almost knocking the chair he was sitting into the ground. He hustled away, rummaging through his personal belongings. Harry watched, stunned. It was only a few breathless hours ago that the drawing began and his name was last to shoot from the Goblet and land on the floor with a flurry of angry fire. The parchment in which his name was written upon would've gone up in flames hadn't it been for the Headmaster scooping it from the floor and waving the enchantment away with a flick of his wrist. Perhaps, had it burned, he wouldn't be stuck participating in the Tournament? Harry could only speculate with immense woe.

Harry's heart plummeted straight into the cavern of his torso; he did not speak for an extended period of time, and when he tried to as more unintellectual words tore from his throat he could not. The thought of not being able to do a blasted thing to live through this was proving to be more than he could bear. It was as if everyone left him to bear all the punishments himself, that he'd meet an unfair end without having a chance at survival. Harry had to do something, anything, but what? What could he possibly do in his limited power? Was there anything that could provide him with the protection he needed? Could Moody be the saving grace that could potentially save him?

"How are you going to survive if you don't know what you're doing?" he hissed, looking around his office still.

"I just found out that I'm participating a moment ago," Harry allowed the comment to slip. Instead of being faced with backlash, Moody only laughed.

"That didn't stop you before, now did it?" He told him after his laughter died down. Moody turned back around, sitting down in front of him. Harry watched his mechanical eye swirl around with intrigue before his attention was drawn between them.

Moody raised his hand, and the stunning vision of one of the contestant came to fruition. Her beautiful features were hidden behind a cloak of deception. There was an intricate woman underneath the guise of a young girl. Her eyes spoke of deceit, her physique hiding the strong nature that she embodied. Harry did know what sort of charm Moody was using, but he was terrified.

"Fleur Delacour, We better keep an eye on this one. She's tricky. All Beauxbatons students are. Do not get distracted by their naturally good looks, Potter. That'll send you straight to the grave."

Harry watched silently as the next vision came to them, this time a student he'd recognized being one of Hogwarts. With his laid-back demeanor, the Seventh Year Hufflepuff looked quite sure of himself. He looked too confident in his abilities, which frightened Harry. Being only a Fourth Year, what kind of torch could he hold against the older Champions? Harry couldn't say.

"Cedric Diggory... it's the honest ones you want to watch out for. He's a Seventh year from my understanding. At the top of his class, and if you have any chance of defeating him, I suggest you learn his weakness and fast. You Gryffindors are always spitting out bravery. Even when you're battered and bruised, you lot still find a way to rise up again. My goal is to get you through this...alive. Despite my years as an Auror, death is not my forte and I'd hate to see another bloody one go out like that."

Moody waved his hand between them, and the last contestant came to them. Harry watched the fog swirl around until the image became clear. He recognized Krum from the Quidditch match and his grand entrance into the Great Hall. There was something considerably primal about him, he'd give Moody that. And, he could easily beat Harry if they were placed in a room together. Strength embodied him, something Harry wasn't sure he had at this point. Through this little show, he wondered if Moody thought of him as some helpless child. Which, he supposed, he was. He didn't want eternal glory- that was something Ron wanted, and he wasn't left with many options. He could either forfeit and pay the penalty, or compete.

Harry knew which option was better.

"You can't forget about Viktor Krum. He may lack brains, but he is all brute strength What do they think they do at Durmstrang? They've trained for this, instilling the Dark Arts into them." Moody told him, looking defeated and worn out in the light of the crackling fire. Harry watched the embers dance across his deformed face, wondering exactly what he'd seen during his years as an Auror and if he was actually qualified to undertake such a strenuous task of being his Mentor.

"You don't think he'll try to hex one of us, do you?"

Moody leaned back in his chair, examining him like he was a piece of scripture in a book. "Anything goes in these type of Tournaments, Potter. I wouldn't be surprised if he did. Granted, there are very few rules, and the usage of Unforgivables happens to be one of them.

"What do you suggest I do, then?" Harry asked, bitingly. He'd never adopted such a hostile attitude and he didn't understand why he would now. He could only think of one individual that earned such a respectable reception. Harry was sure that Snape would love to see him get maimed in a Tournament that's killed, people. "

"Your wand," Moody whispered in a low, hushed tone. "You are allowed your wand, and if you know the right charms, you will survive. Badly bruised or not, my job is to help you get through this alive. As your mentor, I will teach you what you need to know that will get you to the other side of this Tournament."

Harry slowly nodded his head as if he understood everything Moody was telling him. It did not matter if he spent years training for this moment to arrive, Harry was beyond scared. He didn't see himself ready, much less capable of performing the tasks that lay ahead. That did not mean Moody saw him as a weak, helpless little boy, either.

There was hope, but even bravery couldn't help his bruised heart.


End file.
